


The Tune Without the Words

by Dragonflies_and_Katydids



Series: Dawn [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Multi, No Plot/Plotless, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4174977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonflies_and_Katydids/pseuds/Dragonflies_and_Katydids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 750 words of plotless fluff.  *shrug*  I suck at summaries.</p>
<p>Takes place at some non-specific point after <em>Exit Light</em>.  In my head, it's 10 - 12 months after, but really, you can put it wherever you want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tune Without the Words

**Author's Note:**

> "Hope" is the thing with feathers -  
> That perches in the soul -  
> And sings the tune without the words -  
> And never stops - at all -
> 
> And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -  
> And sore must be the storm -  
> That could abash the little Bird  
> That kept so many warm -
> 
> I've heard it in the chillest land -  
> And on the strangest Sea -  
> Yet - never - in Extremity,  
> It asked a crumb - of me.
> 
> Emily Dickinson, "Hope Is The Thing With Feathers"

At least it's a different nightmare than usual.

Instead of Kinloch Hold, Cullen is back in Haven, watching Corypheus destroy the town for the second time. All around him, his soldiers fling themselves forward to die, rushing into the battle even as their comrades fall. Under his feet, the ground is shaking itself apart, chunks tearing free to float up toward the poisonously green sky. With the sky stretching above him instead of pulsing walls, and with far too much company instead of smothering loneliness, it's as different from Kinloch Hold as it's possible to be.

Except for the fear, and the rage. Those are entirely familiar.

He's barely had time to take in his surroundings before the ground shakes hard enough to wake him, and he realizes it isn't the ground moving, it's Bull, trying to slide out from under him. Normally Cullen sleeps with his back against Bull's side, but at some point in the middle of the night, he shifted to lie across Bull, Dorian curled in Cullen's usual spot.

On most mornings, Cullen is the first of them to wake, and where he sleeps doesn't matter unless it leaves him with an ache in his neck or his back. This morning, of course, would be one of the few where Bull rises before the dawn.

"Sorry," Cullen says as he rolls off Bull, and the bed. The nightmare has left him jumpy, even knowing it was prompted by something completely mundane, and he begins to lay Bull's armor out on the table rather than claim the warm spot under the blankets.

"You can go back to sleep," Bull says. "No reason we both have to be up."

"Might as well help," Cullen says, fingers rubbing at a thin spot in the leather of one strap. He tests it carefully, then less carefully. In the middle of a fight with a dragon is not the time for anything to fail, but the strap holds even when he jerks on it as hard as he can. Still, he shows it to Bull and says, "You should have that fixed when you get back."

The words are almost an order, a command that he come back, and as whole as he left.

"I will," Bull says, an answer to both statements.

It doesn't take long to get him packed and ready to go, not when he's done this a hundred times. Cullen's help is more for his own sake than for Bull's: something to do, and a chance to inspect the armor that will keep Bull alive, so that later he can remind himself how sturdy it is.

When everything is done, Bull cups the back of Cullen's head and kisses him, long and slow. Something else to hold to in the next weeks, though this is more for Bull, off with only the Inquisitor, Cassandra, and Blackwall for company. Neither Cullen nor Dorian can work up any enthusiasm for dragon hunting, not even to please Bull, and they've all three given up trying to change that.

Dorian is a vaguely human-shaped lump under the blankets, and Bull has to peel back several layers to find his head, smile broadening as he does so. There's a mumbled protest at the cold air, which changes to a pleased hum when Bull kisses him. One brown arm snakes out from under the blankets to hook itself around the back of Bull's neck, holding him in place until his smile becomes a laugh.

The room is quiet after Bull leaves, so quiet Cullen can hear the blankets rustle as Dorian shifts restlessly. He creeps across the bed an inch at a time, in search of a warm body though he's still more than half asleep. He doesn't wake up until he reaches the far side of the bed without finding anyone, and even then, his eyes when he sits up are unfocused.

He frowns at Cullen in sleepy annoyance and makes some inarticulate demand that Cullen interprets as, "Come back to bed, my feet are cold." Certainly he's eager enough to twine their bodies together once Cullen crawls beneath the blankets. Rather than complain about the chill on Cullen's skin, Dorian gives a contented sigh and immediately goes back to sleep, if he was ever truly awake in the first place. Cullen kisses the top of his head and falls asleep wrapped in blankets that smell of all three of them.

There are no more dreams, at least for tonight.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Tune Without the Words [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4879708) by [Opalsong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalsong/pseuds/Opalsong)




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